The Flower Blooms Even Yet
by Luna and Imbrium
Summary: Misao is tired of being everyone's lackey. She's tired of her empty title as Okashira, tired of having *no* wanted posters with her face, and tired of Aoshi ignoring her. But for this tempramental-ninja-wannabe, things are about to change...


Author's Note:  
  
Imbrium: Wanna know something funny? I'm grounded from writing fanfiction. Like, semi-permanently. The 'semi' part is this: I can still write with my dear, dear co-author and best friend, Luna. *points to Luna*  
  
Luna: *waves*  
  
Imbrium: So, here's the plot. Misao gets kidnapped. Aoshi saves her, only not. Misao gets pissed. Misao goes out to become the 'strongest' (i.e., stronger than Aoshi). Misao meets a certain wanderer (no, not Kenshin) and a washed-up triad-leader (^_^).  
  
Luna: Enishi, Enishi, Enishiiiiiiiiiii!  
  
Imbrium: Sorry. She has an evil-hot-bastard fixation. Don't mind her.  
  
Luna: So do you.  
  
Imbrium: *sticks out tongue* SO, does the plot interest you? If so, read on.....  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything RK-related, except for a bunch of sorry fangirl-type-stuff. Really, I don't. Sad, isn't it?  
  
*  
  
THE FLOWER BLOOMS EVEN YET: Prologue  
  
*  
  
It was a summer day; hot, and sticky in that grating, contentious way that makes you feel as if hands are touching you instead of sweaty clothes. Children rarely noticed days like these: they'd whine, and their parents would eventually drag them to a spring or crick to cool themselves and escape that heat.  
  
But Misao was hardly a child anymore, and haring off into the cool embrace of a local stream seemed like a far-away daydream of youth. It had been at least two years since she had allowed herself such childish indulgences; two years since she had "grown up" into a woman.  
  
A woman she had hoped would please her Aoshi-sama.  
  
Misao angrily stomped down the hallway, her bare feet making loud slapping noises right outside Aoshi's meditation room. She blinked away the sticky steam that was wafting in her eyes---why was it that Aoshi always wanted green tea, even in the sweltering holds of late summer? Why was it that she had really never noticed his annoying fondness for the bland drink---well, it was bland when Omasu brewed it, at least.  
  
Misao could feel the pads of her feet stick slightly to the bamboo flooring as she stood outside his shoji door, pondering if she really wanted to deliver his tea today. For one reason or another, her "time of the month" had ironically coincided with the hottest week---a heat wave in its surest form. So not only did she have to endure the stinking, sweaty thing that was Kyoto in the summer, she also had to wash out bloody rags and suffer cramps and bouts of crabbiness. Serving Aoshi tea really wasn't high on her list.  
  
"Aoshi-sama?" Misao called through the rice-paper, rapping her knuckles against the wood paneling.  
  
She paused. No answer. Typical.  
  
Misao pounded again, this time hard enough to make the paper rattle.  
  
"Aoshi-sama! Let me in!" Fed up with the ambient silence thrown at her, Misao shoved the door open with lethal force, scowling at the dark, yukata- clad form that sat serenely on the tatami, head bowed. Usually, Misao would just set down the tea, make some cheerful comment, and leave, content with his silence.  
  
Oh, but not today. No, not today at all.  
  
Misao marched up to her Aoshi-sama, a hand on her hip, and began launching into her usual one-sided tirade of how he didn't pay any attention to her, how he hardly acted like a respectable man, and if he ignored her any longer, she would strip and dance around him until he *noticed* *something*.  
  
She didn't even get to start her diatribe before a hand snaked around her chest; another constricted around her mouth, silencing the surprised scream before it escaped her lips. A cloth soaked in something sickly sweet was pressed against her mouth and nose---Misao held her breath against the smell, knowing it was intended to knock her out, but she was only able to hold it so long before she *had* to breathe.  
  
Her vision slid, aqueous, and darkened slowly, like fog or clinging clouds.  
  
'Aoshi-sama?' she wondered weakly as unconsciousness took its soft hold. '...why?'  
  
The cup of green tea slid between her numbed fingers as she lost awareness, retreating into an induced state of fitful slumber. The pottery hit the polished floor with a crack, shattering into so many infinitesimal pieces.  
  
Two floors down, twined in his futon and twisted in sheets, Shinomori Aoshi awoke to a familiar, haunting scream.  
  
*  
  
Luna: That was kinda...short.  
  
Imbrium: It's the prologue, fool! The chapters will be much longer!  
  
Luna: Good ^_^  
  
Imbrium: ....-__-;;...later, guys.  
  
PLEASE REVIEW AND MAKE IMBRI HAPPY!!!!! SHE MISSES DANCING PLUMS AND EIGHTH GRADE LITERATURE, BUT IS BANNED!!!! PITY HER!!! 


End file.
